The Woods Company, Inc.

GHOSTS ARE WATCHING

“You can touch the past sometimes…Each scratch and tool mark on the timbers recorded an unremembered instant of judgment and sweat. We spoke quietly as we interpreted their meanings. Ghosts were watching…”

-Roy Underhill
The Woodwright’s Workbook
1986

I remember the first time it hit me. I was tailing at one of the de-nailing stations. The scanner was waving the metal detector over the boards that were brought in the day before. Boards with metal got sent to the nail puller, the ones that were good went to the carts. Board after mind numbing board passed through my hands as I sent each to their appropriate place.

Then BAM! There it was. In its previous life it had been an interior wall board. Well part at least since the person who tore down the house from which it came had cut it down to fir in the back of his truck. But still, there it was. Most of the wall paper that had once covered it was gone, revealing fragments of the newspaper that had used as backing.

The newspaper was from the turn of the last century. Most of the fragments were unreadable. But some, some were and it was glorious. Before I go on I guess I should explain. I’m a history buff. In fact my original major was history. I love the stuff. And here, on this board, were the remnants of one of the first drafts of history.

I was transfixed. I just wanted to hold it, to spend all day reading (or I should say, trying, to read) it. But I knew I couldn’t. Well I couldn’t and keep my job. But still. This was a piece of living, breathing history in my hands. A record of the thoughts, feelings, and opinions of its day. A literal window to the past.

And that was when it really sunk in as to what I was doing, what I was working with. This wood, boards, timbers, beams and columns were all part of something: a house, a barn, a factory and what not. In fact the very boards I was working with that day had come from a house, a home. A home that had husbands and wives and children. A home in which people had fought and loved and dreamed and schemed.

I began to wonder about the people who lived in this now demolished home. Was it owned by only one family? Or did multiple families call this home? Were these good people or were they bad? What things had these boards bared witness to? My mind reeled with all the possibilities of life that had transpired between these wall fragments.

It was then I began to scan every piece of timber that came through our doors. More newspaper fragments, hearts with initials inside, poorly carved names followed by equally poorly carved “was here” and a date. These were the markings of the long dead. Messages from the grave to eternity. For each one I found, I felt elated and a solemn sense that I was the last person to ever read “Jerry was here 1898” or whatever it was.

But then as I studied traditional woodworking more and started delving into the philosophy of handcraft, my mind broadened as to what a message might be. For you see, every tool mark left on a piece of timber is also a message. It’s a message from the workman. It tells you what tools he used, his technique and sometimes, if you looked hard enough, even his state of mind.

It was then that I realized that I too was leaving a message behind. For I had moved up through the ranks of the company and was now “the hand tool guy”. Any project that required hand work went straight to me; hand planed flooring, hand hewn beams, it didn’t matter, it was mine. And those projects, those boards and beams, carry my tool marks. They recorded the decision I made about how to approach the piece, the tools I used, how sharp they were and so on. My message to eternity. Well, them and my kids.

So, the next time you install a reclaimed or recycled piece of flooring or mantle or trim or whatever take your time. Be careful and respectful. Ghosts are watching.

Shannon Brown